


and then there was you and me

by infinitelymint



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bromance, Canon Compliant, M/M, drifted apart, friends - Freeform, hints of romance, if you know how to read between the lines, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, platonic, platonic!larry, sort of, then found each other again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 17:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinitelymint/pseuds/infinitelymint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes Louis a long time to answer, and Harry debates the pros and cons of just making a run for it, but ultimately decides against it. He’s too tired, and if he’s entirely honest with himself, he wants to hear Louis’ answer. </p><p>or the one where Louis and Harry have been drifting apart for a long time, and Harry finally confronts him about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and then there was you and me

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this was written a month or two ago during the American leg of the tour, back before I was really a Larry shipper, and when I thought that Louis and Harry weren't interacting that much (boy, was I wrong!) - and this sort of came of it. Fun thing is, I think I started shipping them halfway through writing this, and I think it shows, if you read between the lines. Also it's unbeta'ed, so mistakes are mine. And I own nothing, unfortunately.  
> But I hope you enjoy, and perhaps will take your time to leave a comment or some kudos. It's food for the soul, really.  
> Find me on tumblr on [infinitelymint](www.infinitelymint.tumblr.com) and feel more than free to drop a comment or anything, really.  
> I hope you enjoy!  
> xxxx

They had the night off, and it was such a rare occurrence that they barely even knew what to do with their short-lived freedom. They’d been touring for five months, and Harry has all but forgotten what it’s like to not live out of a suitcase, not be in a new city everyday, a new venue, another screaming crowd. He’s a part of the biggest sensation of the 21st century, he’s Harry Styles, one fifth of One Direction, and it’s been three years since he was Harry, just Harry. It has been three crazy, fantastic, toe-curling, unbelievable years. The best in Harry’s life by far, but also the toughest, the hardest, the most exhausting in every physical and mental way possible.

And he’s tired. So, so, so tired. They all are. They have bags and shadows under their eyes, so cleverly concealed by make-up during shows. Their eyes are tinted red, their bodies aching, and sometimes Harry thinks that maybe, just maybe, if he went to sleep and nobody woke him, he could sleep forever. There ought to be a special word for the kind of tired they are. Tired all the way into their bones, into their souls. Exhausted.  
And yet he wouldn’t trade it for anything, for he is quite literally living his dream, and yes it is hard, it’s exhausting, and sometimes it seems like it would be so much easier to just go back to Holmes Chapel, back to singing in the shower and sweeping floors in the bakery. But those moments where he thinks that are short-lived and easily replaced by the complete magnificence of what he’s surrounded by.

He feels he owes his soul, his first-born child and everything from here to the end of the world to Simon Cowell for giving him a place in the band. For giving him a family he would otherwise never have known. For giving him four best friends, four brothers, who make everything, all the hard work and the too few hours of sleep and the vicious rumours and terrible homesickness, so, so much easier to deal with. 

Home is where the heart is, the saying goes, and Harry’s heart is with these four lads. 

It’s so fucking brilliant, and at the same time it’s bloody excruciating, because everything has changed, even that which he thought would never. They’re a household name all over the world now, there is hardly a soul on planet earth who do not know who One Direction is, and it’s terrifying and exciting all at once, rolled into one big confusing pile of feelings and experiences Harry is still trying, in vain, to sort out.

He’s changed too. Sixteen when they started their adventure, nineteen now. Nineteen, but he feels like he’s one hundred. Wise beyond his years, hardened by what they have been through, the innocence long lost. He’s had to grow up much faster than one ever ought to, forced into maturity by the most dramatic life change possible. Sometimes he feels like an old soul trapped in a much too young body. Other times he feels nineteen and on top of the world and fucking fabulous.

 

Liam and Niall opt for leaving in search of a bar. Niall want to blow off some steam and have a few pints (that he’s technically not legal to drink in America doesn’t seem to face him), and Liam goes with him for the company. Zayn flashes a grin, holds up his phone and all Harry catches is something about a walk and calling Perrie. Liam and Niall invite him to join, but in all honesty Harry just wants to be alone, so he shakes his head and smiles at them. He’s so tired, and everything is perfect and so, so fucked up at the same time. 

Louis isn’t there, Harry thinks he’s probably already left. He feels like he rarely sees Louis anymore. Except, of course, they’re always the same places, but it’s not the same. He’s never had a friend like Louis before, never had anyone he clicked so instantly with, or so well. Like they were two pieces from the same LEGO-set finally reunited. He really thought that the bond they shared, the friendship they’d build so easily, was one of those things that could withstand anything and everything. One of those things that would never crumble, only ever change for the better, only ever grow stronger. If Niall, Zayn and Liam were his brothers, Louis was his twin. 

They used to be HarryandLouis, LouisandHarry, spaces didn’t exist between their names. They were a package deal. A friendship so close that it went above and beyond what Harry had ever experienced with anyone else. They used to be inseparable, now they hardly talked. 

It was such a gradual change that Harry barely noticed at first. He was moving out, getting his own place, so it was hardly surprising that they started seeing each other less. They didn’t text as much as before, or call as much, but Louis had Eleanor, and Harry was happy for him, so he understood that much of Louis’ time suddenly belonged to her. Harry met new people, took an instant like to some, and ended up with some pretty great new mates. It was cool, Louis was still his best mate, they just didn’t interact as often as before. It was a perfectly natural development. 

Except it went from less to next to nothing. 

All those little things that had been so defining for their special kind of friendship; the touches, the arms slouched over each other’s shoulders, the banter, the hugs, the cuddling – all of it slowly disappeared. It was like watching a train going a hundred miles an hour towards a cliff, but being unable to stop it. All Harry could do was watch it drive over the edge of the cliff, wrecking itself when it landed at the bottom. 

He should have done more, done anything really, and perhaps he wouldn’t be here now – exhausted and missing his best mate. He didn’t understand what had happened, and he didn’t understand why he hadn’t just grabbed Louis and talked to him about it. But Louis never grabbed him, and Harry thinks that perhaps that’s the reason, and, fuck it, it hurts. It hurts so damn much that Louis just gave up on their friendship like that, like it was the easiest thing he’d ever done. Louis never fought for their friendship, and damn it, Harry’s not going to force the boy into a friendship he apparently no longer wants to be a part of. 

Even that which he thought would never change had changed. Most dramatic life-change, all right.

The other boys bid him farewell as they leave the bus one by one, and soon Harry is left alone in what’s usually a bus full of people. It’s strange, and normally on a night like this, Harry would opt for a hotel with a nice, proper bed, but for some reason he just couldn’t be bothered today. All he wants is to snuggle under his covers in his much too small bunk bed, and just sleep. He’s thinking entirely too much these days, lingering on could have, would have, should have, and it’s dangerous territory, he doesn’t want to go there. He’s sick of thinking and sick of regretting, and he just wants to let blissful oblivion take him and sleep until tomorrow, or – if he really had a say in it – until next week.

He moves from the lounge area to their “sleeping quarters”, and is startled, when he discovers that he is not alone after all. 

Sitting on the lower bunk belonging to Zayn is Louis, and he doesn’t seem to notice that Harry has entered, doesn’t acknowledge it at any rate.

Harry decides to let his presence known with a little cough, and a slightly raspy “Thought you had gone out...” evidence of the fact that he has hardly said three words all day. 

Louis is startled, his head whipping towards the sound of Harry’s voice, but he recovers the initial shock relatively fast. “I’m not feeling too great.” Is what he says. “Just wanted to sleep it off…” He trails off, and now that Harry looks at him he can see that Louis is indeed looking a bit pale, a bit peaky. Harry hadn’t noticed before, but then again these days he tries not to look too much at Louis, doesn’t want the constant reminder of everything he’s lost. 

“You can take my bed.” Harry says quietly, inclining his head towards the lower bunk opposite Zayn’s.

Louis looks surprised at first, partially over the fact that Harry offers it, and partially because somehow Harry just knew that Louis had spent the last five minutes debating over the pros and cons of just crashing in Zayn’s bed and dealing with the repercussions when he wakes up to an undoubtedly annoyed Zayn. Harry knows that it is shit to feel ill when in the upper bunk. It’s a bitch to get up and down, the air is stuffier and so much hotter, and, god forbid it, if you need to be sick, it’s goddamn inconvenient. 

“Thank you.” Louis finally says, after what feels like forever to Harry. Harry nods, and turns away, intent on leaving, because being with Louis like this is awkward, and Harry is too tired for awkward, and, besides, the awkward is just yet another reminder of how much things are not as they should be. 

He manages to take a step away from Louis, before turning around to look at the older boy again. The words, barely more than a whisper, slip out before he even registers opening his mouth.  
”What the hell happened to us, Lou?”  
And as soon as the words leave his mouth, he wants to grab them and stuff them back down his throat. But of course he can’t, and now they’re out, and the silence that follows is deafening. 

It takes Louis a long time to answer, and Harry debates the pros and cons of just making a run for it, but ultimately decides against it. He’s too tired, and if he’s entirely honest with himself, he wants to hear Louis’ answer. 

“We grew up, I suppose.” Is what Louis eventually says. 

Harry has to resist the urge to roll his eyes because, come on, ‘we grew up’ has to be the shittiest excuse in the history of shitty excuses. “We matured,” is what he says instead, “but we didn’t become two entirely different people, Lou. At least I didn’t. I’m still me.”

Louis lets out a harsh laugh, before replying: “Don’t give me that shit, Harry. You moved on. You got all these new mates, you got Nick and Ed and you didn’t need me anymore!”

“Didn’t need you anymore? Are you mental? You’re my best friend, Louis, I’ve never needed anyone as much as I needed you. As much as I still need you. ” He pulls the scarf from where it’s wrapped around his head and runs his hand agitatedly through his hair. All the anger and wound up tension he felt before is slowly leaving him, and now he just feels defeated. He was never really able to be angry at people – least of all Louis. He closes his eyes and leans heavily against the bunk bed next to him, running his hand down over his face. “You just let me go, Lou. You got Eleanor, and you didn’t need me anymore.” He can’t help the heavy sigh that escapes him. Straightening up, he shakes his head slightly, as if to clear it of all the thoughts running through. “You should sleep,” he says eventually, eyeing how exhausted and ill Louis is looking. “You look like hell, and this really isn’t the time to have this conversation.”

“No, I..” Louis interrupts, struggling to find the right words. He takes a deep breath and starts again “Don’t leave, Haz. You’re right, I’ve.. I’ve been a shit friend, and I’m sorry, and we do need to talk about this.”And suddenly it’s as if something shifts within Louis, suddenly it’s like something breaks, and Harry can see how Louis is crumbling in front of him.  
Harry is right in front of him before he even registers that he’s moved. He crouches down before Louis and cradles Louis’ head in his large hands, trying not to think of how Louis’ skin is much too hot and far too clammy to be healthy.

“Lou,” he says softly, and that seems to be the last straw because Louis’ breath hitches and a small dry sob escapes him.

Harry’s heart positively aches.

“Fuck, Lou,” he mutters, and the next thing he knows he has Louis face cradled against his chest, Louis’ hands fisted in his shirt and his hands running through Louis’ soft hair – for once bereft of its usual hairspray and wax. He can feel Louis’ hot tear soaking through his shirt, and he can’t remember the last time he saw Louis actually cry. By the looks of it, he’s been holding it in for far too long. 

Caught in his own bubble of exhaustion and misery, he hadn’t spared much thought to how Louis had been these past few months, had always assumed that Louis was fine, that Louis was happy without him. It strikes Harry like lightening from a clear sky how very, very, very wrong he’s been. Louis’ been getting so much shit in the media and from the fans, always painted as the arsehole, as the ungrateful, rude one – some even going as far as too saying that he doesn’t deserve to be in the band. And Harry knows how wrong they are – used to tell Lou so all the time – knows how important Louis is to the band, knows how without him they’d be nothing. Knows how its Louis who picks them up and makes them smile when everything is shit, knows how he is the kindest, the sweetest guy on earth, knows how much credit Louis deserves for the songs on their new album. He knows, and he thought Louis would know too, but perhaps he’d always needed Harry’s reassurance. 

When he pulls his head out of his arse, Harry can see how much Louis has been teetering on the edge of a breakdown for months and months, and it seems that a cocktail of fever and Harry is what it takes to push him over the edge.

When Harry turns his attention back to the Louis in his arms, he becomes acutely aware of the fact that Louis is muttering something into Harry’s chest.

“-orry, Haz.” Is what Harrys makes out. “So, so sorry. I’ve missed you so much.” 

Harry tightens his hold of Louis, softly massaging his scalp. “It’s okay, love,” he whispers into Louis’ hair, breathing in the scent of Louis. “It’s okay.” He continues muttering assurances until Louis’ sobs slowly subside and his hold of Harry’s shirt loosens. Pulling back slightly, Harry moves his hands to Louis’ cheeks again and rests his forehead against Louis’. 

Taking a deep breath and meeting Harry’s eyes, Louis covers Harry’s hands with his own smaller ones. “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry manages to get out, utterly overwhelmed by the earnest emotions he sees in Louis’ blue eyes. “Me too. But we’re okay, Lou. We’re okay.” And they aren’t, not really, and Harry knows it, and Louis knows it, but it’s okay, ‘cause they might not be entirely okay now, but they will be. They will be. 

Harry strokes his thumb along Louis’ cheekbone. “Let’s sleep.” He says, his voice gruff. He pulls back, intent on climbing into Louis’ top bunk, but pauses when Louis holds onto his hand, as if per instinct, before realizing what he’s doing and letting go. Harry smiles and shoves Louis’ shoulder lightly, his mind suddenly changed. “Move over, Lou.”He says, and Louis looks at him, confusion marring his features, like he isn’t sure he quite understands what Harry is implying. “It’ll be like old times.”

Louis smiles at him, a soft, timid smile, nothing like the obnoxious laughter and broad smiles he often gives in public. “I don’t want to get you sick.”

Harry barks out a laugh before he can restrain himself, and shakes his head. He pulls his t-shirt over his head and shimmies out of his tight jeans. “I really, really couldn’t care less, to be honest.” That settles it then, because the next thing he knows they’re both under the covers, tightly wrapped up in each other, and it really is just like old times. 

And lying there with his arms tightly around Louis, his nose buried in his hair, their feet and hands intertwined, Harry finally feels whole again. And they just love each other so, so fucking much.


End file.
